


Counting the Steps to the Door of Your Heart

by Lalalli



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 5 + 1, F/M, Fake Out Make Out, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-09-06 20:48:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16840150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalalli/pseuds/Lalalli
Summary: Five times Fitzsimmons pretend to be a couple and one time they don’t.





	1. Academy Days

**Author's Note:**

> Tbh, I was going to wait to post this until I was done writing it, but this has been sitting in Docs for the better part of a year, and I’m hoping that posting the first part will motivate me to actually write the rest.
> 
> If the first part looks familiar, it’s because this is an expansion of my fake dating chapters in U-Trope-ia.

i.

Fitz scowls into his beer as yet another one of Jemma’s admirers interrupts their conversation. Jemma’s fingers play idly with the curls at the back of his head, and with that reminder of his fake boyfriend duties, he wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer to him.   
  
Ever since she turned 18, Jemma has been on the receiving end of far too many advances by the much older male students at the Academy. Jemma thought she would be able to tolerate the extra attention through their last term, but after two months, she found that it was unbearable and approached Fitz for help.   
  
“You know that thing where men can’t take no for an answer unless a woman is already spoken for?” Jemma had asked Fitz.   
  
Fitz frowned. “That’s a thing?”   
  
Jemma nodded sagely. “Absolutely. That’s why I need your help.”   
  
Fitz shrugged. “Sure, Simmons. What’re their names? You want me to talk to them?”   
  
Jemma blanched. “Talk to them? God, no - I can’t imagine any scenario where that would go well. I’m saying I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”   
  
Fitz gave her that look, the same one he gave her when she accidentally left the cat liver next to his lunch or rambled on a bit too long when she was trying to flirt with Milton last year. “How exactly is that plan any better than me having a simple conversation with them?” he asked, his voice doubtful and on the edge of reprimanding.   
  
“Trust me, Fitz,” she told him confidently. “The only way to get them to stop asking me out is to already have a boyfriend. It’s chauvinistic as hell, but that’s the way the world works.”   
  
She said they would only need to keep up the ruse until graduation in three months, but it’s already been a month, and so far their fake-dating scheme has been completely pointless. Despite the fact that they arrive at the Boiler Room every weekend hand in hand and are generally open with their physical affection, giving each other little pecks on the cheek and leaning into each other and playing with each other’s hair, Jemma is still constantly being approached by men she deems both too old and too boring.   
  
“...so yeah, it’s supposed to be a pretty good movie, if you want to see it next weekend,” Rodriguez tells Jemma.   
  
“Fascinating.” Jemma turns to Fitz. “What do you think, babe? Wanna see it next weekend?”   
  
“Yeah, sure,” Fitz agrees readily. “Sounds like it could be fun.”   
  
Jemma turns back to Rodriguez. “Thanks for the recommendation!” she says brightly.   
  
Instead of crawling away with his tail between his legs (which to Fitz, would seem to be the most appropriate response), Rodriguez frowns and corrects her. “I meant with me. I wanted to know if you wanted to see it with me.”   
  
Jemma feigns a look of confusion. “I mean, we were thinking it would be more of a date night, but you’re welcome to tag along if you have no one else to see it with,” she offers.   
  
Rodriguez scowls and mutters, “Never mind,” before turning and finally - finally! - walking away.   
  
Once Rodriguez is out of earshot, Fitz turns to Jemma and smirks. “Babe?” he repeats, amused.   
  
Jemma steals his beer bottle from him and takes a swig. “Shut up. He wasn’t taking the hint, so I was trying to make it obvious.”   
  
Fitz drops his arm from around Jemma’s shoulders and rubs the back of his neck. “Look, Simmons...I don’t think this is working.”   
  
Jemma narrows her eyes at him. “Are you fake dumping me?” she demands.   
  
Fitz holds up his hands in front of him. “No! Not at all! I’m saying that I don’t think we’re convincing enough as a couple.” He gestures between the two of them. “And I think part of it is that we’re a bit mismatched.”   
  
“How on earth could we be mismatched?” Jemma protests. “We’re both the youngest here, we’re both clearly the smartest, we both -”   
  
“I’m not attractive enough for you,” Fitz interrupts.   
  
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jemma scoffs.   
  
“It’s true,” Fitz insists. “That’s why these other blokes keep approaching you - they don’t see me as competition. It’s obvious you could do so much better than me.”   
  
Jemma reaches out to him as though she’s about to grab his arms, then clenches her hands into fists and pulls them back to wrap around her neck. “I’m trying really hard to resist the urge to shake you,” she informs him matter-of-factly. “I don’t understand why you have to be so down on yourself all the time. I mean, sure, you may not be the tallest or the most well-built -”   
  
“Please. Stop. I’m blushing,” Fitz deadpans.   
  
“But you’re the most interesting person here and you’re very symmetrical and you have a low body fat percentage and your eyes are very, very blue. Objectively speaking, you’re very handsome.”   
  
Fitz raises his eyebrows. “I am?”   
  
Jemma nods. “You are.”   
  
Fitz blinks. “Uh, thanks. You too.”   
  
Jemma tilts her head, giving him a teasing smile. “I’m handsome?”   
  
Fitz flushes. “No! I mean, yes. I mean, you’re pretty.” He shakes his head and covers his eyes with his hand. “Don’t do this to me, Simmons. You already know you’re beautiful.”   
  
Jemma wraps her fingers around Fitz’s wrist and gently pulls it down. “Thank you, Fitz.” Her expression has turned from teasing to soft and affectionate and Fitz finds that he can’t help but mirror it.   
  
They stare at each other for a few moments, neither moving or saying a word, until it gets to be a bit too much for Fitz and he moves his gaze to glance over Jemma’s shoulder. He suppresses a grimace. “Uh, just so you know, Benson’s headed towards us.”   
  
This is usually Jemma’s cue to school her expression into a mask of indifference before turning around, but instead, she takes a step closer to Fitz and wraps her hands around his neck.   
  
“Uh...what are you doing?” Fitz asks nervously.   
  
Jemma looks at him pointedly, as though it should be obvious. “I’m being convincing.” With that, she closes the gap between them and presses her lips to his.   
  
It’s fairly short-lived, as kisses go, and Fitz barely has the chance to slide his hands around her waist, much less kiss her back, before Jemma’s pulling away, tugging lightly on his bottom lip as they part.   
  
Fitz stares down at her, more than a little awestruck.

  
“Is he still there?” Jemma asks.   
  
Fitz blinks. “Who?”   
  
Jemma rolls her eyes impatiently. “Benson!”   
  
Fitz, with great effort, tears his eyes away from her lips and looks over her shoulder. “Uh, no - looks like he turned around - he’s walking in the opposite direction now.”   
  
Jemma beams at him. “See? Problem solved. Now we’re more convincing.” She drops her hands from around his neck and grabs his hand. “I think I’ve had enough of the Boiler Room for tonight,” she says, tugging him behind her as she walks towards the door. “Let’s go back to your dorm and watch a movie.”   
  
Though Fitz feels pretty enthusiastic at the prospect of changing into pyjamas and watching Jurassic Shark with his best friend, he also finds that Jemma’s particular brand of problem solving has him wishing, for the first time ever, that another one of her admirers would approach them, just so that they could have another opportunity to be convincing.

ii.

Over the course of five years of friendship, Jemma Simmons has learned a lot about Leopold Fitz.

She’s learned that a surefire way to make clear that she’s mad at him is to call him any variation of his first name. She’s learned that he has a very detailed wardrobe calendar inside his closet that prevents him from wearing the same shirt-tie-cardigan combination twice in the same month. She’s learned that if left to his own devices, he would let his hair grow into a wild and curly mop. 

And she’s learned that Fitz would do just about anything for free food.

“I told you that I’d just buy you a cake, right?” Jemma asks again. “We really don’t have to go to these lengths.”

Fitz shoots her an incredulous look. “Why would you pay money for for one kind of cake when we can try over 20 varieties for  _ free _ ?”

Someone bumps into Jemma, almost sending her staggering into a chocolate fountain. Jemma looks around at the towering floral arrangements and clouds of tulle surrounding them. “Because we’d get to avoid planning a wedding.”

Fitz rolls his eyes. “It’s not like we’re  _ actually _ planning a wedding. We’re just sampling some cake.”

“And why is it called a  _ Bridal _ Bazaar?” Jemma continues, undeterred. “What, is the woman the only one who’s supposed to plan the wedding? And what if there is no bride? What if there’s two grooms?”

“Exactly,” Fitz agrees. “And that’s why we need to stick it to those heteronormative assumptions. We’re gaming the system, Simmons.”

Jemma looks at him doubtfully. “By eating cake?”

“By pretending to be engaged to eat free cake,” Fitz corrects her.

They systematically work their way through all the booths, making sure to ask questions about delivery fees or the difference in price between buttercream and fondant to distract the vendors from the fact that they are eating a truly obscene amount of cake samples. Fitz and Jemma tease each other and bicker the whole time, earning them fond smiles from many of the vendors and several comments about what a cute couple they are.

Many of the non-food vendors try to rope them into listening to their sales pitches, and it’s overwhelming enough that Jemma decides then and there that she never wants to plan a wedding. She never realized how much goes into it. She doesn’t only need flowers for the bouquets and centerpieces, but to line the aisle and perhaps to create a curtain of blossoms to provide a backdrop for the ceremony. And if the venue is outdoors, they’ll certainly need a tent, and if it gets dark, they’ll need to hang chandeliers so they can have light. And of course, they’ll need music - which, should they hire a band or a dj for the reception? Pianist or string quartet for the ceremony? They’ll need to rent a dance floor, of course, perhaps even a photo booth. And wedding favors for all the guests. Maybe hire an ice cream truck to hand out nostalgic treats. And they’ll need to make a grand exit - they’ll need sparklers for all the guests to create a pathway of light to send them on their way. Should they hire a limo to take them to their hotel? It’s all too much.

Jemma thinks that if she ever gets married, she’d want it to be simple. Small. Intimate. Maybe in a park or garden, somewhere with a lot of natural beauty. They’ll plug in Fitz’s old iPod to some speakers and let everyone take turns choosing songs. They’ll do it in the morning, so they don’t have to worry about having a bar. They’ll just set out croissants and donuts and coffee on a picnic table. She’ll stop by a grocery store on the way and get one of those ready-made bouquets. It doesn’t need to be a big deal. All that matters is that she and Fitz are married at the end of it.

Wait.

She and  _ the groom.  _ Which would not be Fitz. Because she and Fitz are friends. Strictly platonic.

Though if theoretically, hypothetically, she were to marry Fitz? She might try to convince him to wear a kilt.


	2. Chapter 2

III.

In Fitz’s opinion, he has a wide and varied set of skills. He can spontaneously construct miniature explosives, he can bypass security locks, he can operate drones to conduct surveillance and collect information, and he can convincingly talk in five different accents. He’s _useful_ , dammit.

So he doesn’t know why he’s constantly being relegated to the role of _distraction._

The only consolation is that Jemma is stuck on distraction duty with him. Although, it is a bit stressful, being paired with her for this. She’s _awful_ at lying, and he spends the whole time constantly on edge, always ready to cut her off if she tries to talk to anyone who isn’t him, lest she give them away.

They keep their hands clasped together as they navigate through the cloud of smoke permeating the crowded casino.

“I see him,” Jemma murmurs, giving his hand a quick squeeze.

“Where?”

“Ten and two.”

Fitz furrows his brow. “That’s not...that’s for driving, Simmons.”

“Candy,” she reminds him.

“I am not calling you Candy,” he says for probably the thousandth time. “Pick another name.”

Jemma rolls her eyes and tugs in his arms, speed-walking down the aisle of slot machines until she purposefully jostles the target.

“Oh, excuse me, I’m _so_ sorry - Oh my heavens, you’re Ian Quinn!”

Fitz winces at how unnatural she sounds. She is truly terrible at acting.

Luckily, Quinn doesn’t seem suspicious - just mildly confused. “Do I know you?”

Fitz lets go of Jemma’s hand to grab Quinn’s, pumping it up and down enthusiastically. “No, but we know you!” Fitz drawls in his Midwestern accent. “We’re huge fans - huge!”

Behind him, Quinn’s bodyguard just watches, amused.

Jemma turns to Fitz. “Hon, I think we found our witness!” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Fitz scoffs. “He’s much too busy.”

“Witness?” Quinn repeats, curiosity piqued.

Jemma points towards the sign advertising the adjoining chapel. “We want to get married, but the officiant said we have to find a witness. We would love it if you could come to our wedding! It would mean so much to us!”

Coulson’s voice crackles in their ears. “ _We’re in.”_

Skye’s voice follows soon after. _“Ugh, what did he pack in his suitcase? A compost bin?”_

Fitz clears his throat, trying to remember his lines despite the voices distracting him. “Darling, we don’t want to annoy the man.”

Jemma bursts into fake tears, burying her face in her hands.

Quinn takes a step back with his hands in front of him, as though he finds displays of emotion physically revolting. “Are you alright?” He furrows his brow and looks at Fitz. “Is she alright?”

“Don’t mind me,” Jemma sniffles, waving her hand. “It’s just - I’ve always dreamed of getting married. And seeing as I only have three months left to live…”

Fitz suppresses the overwhelming urge to roll his eyes.

Quinn’s expression softens. “I’d be honored to come to your wedding.” He glances at his watch. “For 15 minutes.”

Jemma brightens and claps her hands. “Oh, how wonderful! Isn’t that wonderful, Harold?”

Fitz glares at her. He definitely did not agree to _Harold_. “Yes, Ashley, dear.”

Jemma’s smile doesn’t falter, but her eyes narrow slightly, displeased with the name Fitz has chosen. But it was the most popular name for the year she was born, so if they’re going for forgettable, it’s a good name. Simmons isn’t the only one who excels at preparation.

As they lead Quinn to the chapel, the rest of the team chatter in their ears while they search through Quinn’s hotel penthouse. It’s a bit distracting, but it’s fine. It’s not like getting fake-married demands a lot of focus and mental effort.

Jemma walks down the aisle wearing a short maroon shift dress that she borrowed from Skye and a fake flower crown that she bought from Claire’s a couple months ago when a mission took her and Skye to Coachella. She looks a bit ridiculous (which was part of the plan), but her smile is bright and happy. Fitz thinks that Quinn is probably convinced Jemma/Ashley is an excited bride, but Fitz knows that her smile is mostly due to amusement at the situation and excitement to use the vows she wrote. She mentioned earlier that she stayed up all night writing them. 

When she reaches Fitz at the front of the chapel, Jemma takes his hands in hers and clears her throat. “Harold. Ever since our first conversation about horse grooming, I knew we were going to be in each other’s lives for a long time. I was so happy that I had found someone who loves horses as much as I do - maybe even more. I didn’t know it was possible. I am so happy to be your wife, and to start a family with you, on a ranch, with our many horses.” 

_“I think I found something,”_ Ward says. Skye’s voice joins in and they immediately start squabbling about the best way to unlock whatever it is they found.

Fitz waits for Jemma to continue, but she just squeezes his hands and looks at him expectantly. Fitz opens his mouth, about to ask how preparing three sentences kept her up all night, but ultimately bites back his annoyance. Apparently, it’s up to him to prolong the wedding.

Fitz rubs his thumb along Jemma’s knuckles, trying to recall the vows he memorized. “Ashley, I love you. You have my heart.” He can barely think with all the arguing in his ears. “We will never be worlds apart.”

“ _No, we’re going to set off the alarm if you break it!”_ Skye insists.

“When you need me there, with you I’ll always share,” Fitz promises.

“ _Let’s just take the whole thing then_!” Ward groans.

“When the sun shines, we shine together. I told you I’ll be here forever.”

“ _Since when can you bench press 20 tons? Because that is seriously how much this thing weighs_.”

“Said I’ll always be a friend. I’m taking an oath - I’m going to stick it out until the end.”

The confusion in Jemma’s eyes clear, giving way to recognition. She presses her lips tightly together, like she’s holding back laughter..

“Now that it’s raining more than ever, know that we still have each other. You can stand under my…” Fitz’s voice falters when he realizes what he’s reciting. “Umbrella.” Fitz clears his throat.

“ _We don’t have time to argue,”_ May snaps.

“ _We wouldn’t be arguing if Ward would just let me do my job!”_ Skye complains. 

Jemma beams at him. “That was beautiful, Harold.” 

“ _Maybe if you weren’t taking your sweet time -“_

_“Maybe if you weren’t hovering over my shoulder -“_

“ _You’re_ beautiful, Ashley,” Fitz responds, stalling. “You’re amazing. Just the way you are. When I see your face, there’s not a thing that I would change. When you smile, the whole world stops and stares for a while.” Wait. 

“ _Got it!”_ Skye crows. “ _Suck it, Ward!”_

“ _You remember that we’re on the same side, right?”_

“I, uh, I love you.” Fitz exhales deeply and smiles at Jemma. The officiant, who’s dressed as a gladiator for some reason, has them exchange rings. They’re cheap and gaudy, having bought them from the souvenir shop in the hotel lobby.

Skye swears just as the officiant is telling Fitz he may kiss the bride, and as soon as Fitz’s lips meet Jemma’s, Ward mutters, _“Oh, great. Just what we needed.”_

Jemma’s fingers tighten on Fitz’s shoulders, and Fitz knows that she’s realized, just as he did, that they need to stall Quinn for even longer.

They’re standing there, with their lips fused together, stiff as statues, and as stressful as it is, Fitz knows that they need to do something to make it seem like they’ve been caught up in the moment, because no one would willingly continue a kiss this stiff and terrible.

Fitz tightens his arms around her and pries her lips open with his, turning the kiss into something fervent and hungry. Jemma goes with it, getting her tongue involved and moving her hands restlessly over his back.

From a technical perspective, it’s a good kiss. Fitz might even be curious about what it might be like to repeat this exact same kiss under different circumstances. But his teammates are whisper-shouting at each other in his ear and Quinn is watching them and their leather-skirt-wearing officiant is shifting uncomfortably between them, as though _they’re_ the weird ones, so suffice it to say that it’s probably the most awkward kiss of his life.

They finally break apart, breathless, and the officiant pronounces them husband and wife.

Quinn walks up to them to congratulate them, then says, “Well, I really should be going.”

“But pictures!” Jemma blurts. “We need to take our wedding pictures!” 

Quinn looks at his watch. “I’m already going to be late for -”

Fitz slings an arm around Quinn’s shoulder. “C’mon, just a couple. So we can remember this day.”

“ _Fitzsimmons! Get to the rendezvous point NOW!”_

“Or not,” Fitz quickly amends, steering Quinn towards the door. “We want to respect your very limited time.”

“But we appreciate you coming!” Jemma adds brightly. 

They wait until Quinn walks around the corner to run in the other direction.

IV.

Fitz and Jemma’s clasped hands swing in between them as they walk past the “Open House” sign on the lawn of the three-bedroom bungalow. The plan was to scan the living room first, but of course, Fitz’s nose leads him straight to the kitchen.

“Are those cookies?” Fitz asks, not waiting for a response as he grabs three cookies at once. Jemma slaps the back of his hand, chastising, nodding towards the living room, where there are two other couples milling around. Fitz holds out one of the cookies to her with a hangdog expression on his face. Jemma sighs and accepts the cookie, trying her best to continue to look disappointed in him, but failing miserably. He’s so cute. She’s only dreamt about going house-hunting with him twice, but he definitely had the same adorably sheepish expression in both dreams. 

Jemma should probably be alarmed that she has dreams about going house-hunting with Fitz, but she’s much more worried by the increased frequency of her dreams of being married to Fitz, settling down in Perthshire with Fitz, waking up in the same bed as him, happy and warm, wrapping her arms around him from behind as he scrambles eggs at the stove, kissing his bare shoulder blade.

It’s not that she’s never dreamt about Fitz before. They’ve been inseparable for ages; of course she’s had dreams about him. It’s just that they were usually sex dreams. But she’s had sex dreams about loads of attractive people. She has sex dreams about Skye and Bobbi and Hunter and Mack on occasion. It doesn’t mean anything. 

Not that her Fitz-centric dreams of idle domesticity mean anything either. Dreams are just dreams. Everyone knows that Freud was a fraud.

Jemma pulls out her phone, pretending to take pictures of original crown molding while actually scanning the room for abnormal wavelengths of energy. Of course, the DWARVES could do a far more comprehensive job of analyzing the room, but they do need to be discreet.

On the other side of the room, the realtor approaches Fitz as he presses his ear against the wall and knocks. “Do you have any questions?” She asks.

“I’m just trying to figure out if this is a load-bearing wall. My wife prefers an open concept layout.” He pulls out his tablet, roving across the room. “Maybe we can put in an island from here to here,” he muses.

“Darling, look at this!” Jemma calls, beckoning him over to the hallway, where there’s a door with three padlocks on it. She turns to the realtor. “Can you open this door please?” 

The realtor waves a little too flippantly. “That just leads out to the backyard.”

Jemma and Fitz exchange a Look. Jemma links her arm through Fitz’s. “Darling, come look at this room with me. I think it would make the perfect nursery.”

Fitz drapes his arm over Jemma’s shoulder and pulls her close to him, leaning in to nuzzle her temple. Jemma’s heartrate skyrockets. “That definitely doesn’t lead outdoors,” he whispers.

Jemma giggles as though he just whispered an inside joke in her ear. She leans up to bury her face in his neck, trying not to make it too obvious to Fitz how much she likes the way he smells while simultaneously trying to make extremely obvious to everyone else. “Well, obviously. I’m thinking secret lair?”

The suspicious door is far from the only alarming thing they find. Jemma finds a large stain on the concrete floor of the garage that she suspects is the result of a pool of blood. Fitz discovers a tunnel that has been boarded shut behind the water tank in the basement. And while the realtor is attending to another couple in the master bath, they double back to the hallway to scan the suspicious door, finding that not only is there a room behind it, but that it contains an object with an abnormally high spectral directional emmisivity. 

When the realtor finds them again in the so-called third bedroom that’s the size of a closet, Fitz is holding up the corner of a rug while Jemma collects samples from inside the scratches on the floor to see if there’s any fingernail residue in them. “What are you doing?” The alarm in the realtor’s voice is clear, despite her obvious attempt to keep a friendly smile on her face.

Fitz drops the rug on Jemma’s head in surprise. Jemma sputters and fumbles out from under the rug. She grins a bit too manically to look innocent. “Nothing!”

“We were just trying to figure out if the floors are linoleum or vinyl,” Fitz recovers.

The realtor frowns. “It’s the original hardwood flooring.”

“Ah.” The three of them stare at each other.

“Shiplap!” Jemma blurts suddenly.

Fitz and the realtor look at her in confusion.

Jemma’s watch vibrates again. “Is that shiplap?”

The realtor furrows her brow. “It’s drywall.” 

“Oh, what a shame. I really had my heart set on _shiplap,”_ she says meaningfully, staring down Fitz.

Fitz’s eyes widen in understanding. “Right. Shiplap.” He grabs Jemma’s hand. “Plus, there’s no breakfast nook.”

“I suppose we’ll have to keep on looking.” Jemma pulls Fitz’s arm around her shoulders as they walk out of the house. “What part of ‘shiplap’ didn't you understand?” Jemma hisses once they’ve crossed the driveway.

“I got mixed up! I thought it was our covers’ safeword!”

“Our covers’ safeword is ‘avocado toast!’”

“That’s two words!” Fitz complains. “And by the way, this is why I keep telling you that our backstories don’t need to be so detailed and extensive! It’s too confusing!”

Jemma doesn’t respond for fear of accidentally revealing that those detailed and extensive backstories were inspired by equally detailed and extensive dreams (and occasional daydream).

Talk about confusing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you couldn’t tell, this takes place in an alternate timeline where nothing bad ever happens. Where this fits in within canon timeline, I don’t know. Just go with it.
> 
> (Also, part V is also borrowed from UTropia.)

V.

Fitz stares steadfastly at the back of Jemma’s head as he follows her down the hall, decidedly not staring at the low dip of the back of her evening gown or the multitude of freckles it exposes. Honestly, getting dressed for this party was supposed to be the easiest part of this mission, and Jemma completely failed. They’re supposed to be undercover. Incognito. Blend into the crowd. Instead, she wears that satiny emerald green dress that plunges both in the front and back and how on earth is Fitz supposed to focus on the mission when she’s making him feel uncomfortably like he might agree with the reasoning of those pervy school headmasters who impose strict school dress codes to make sure girls don’t distract from boys’ learning with their shoulder blades or whatever? It’s bloody rude is what it is.   
  
So yeah, he has no desire to be a chauvinist, which means it’s his responsibility to not get distracted by a little bit of skin, or God, that little mole on the inner curve of her left breast that he’d never seen before. Which means spending an entire evening staring alternately at the floor or her (very shiny) hair. It makes conversing with the other party guests a bit awkward because she’s supposed to be his date, but no matter - he’s sure it’s glaringly obvious to everyone in the room that she’s way out of his league anyways.   
  
Fitz has never been so grateful to get to the actual dangerous part of the mission before. When Jemma leads him into the mansion’s expansive study, he breathes a sigh of relief and busies himself with setting up the bugs in the lamps and within the dark mahogany bookshelves and in the landline phone (which, ugh, what self-respecting billionaire still has a landline phone?). Meanwhile, Jemma starts pulling out files and inventory logs, looking for proof of their mark’s business dealings with Ian Quinn. They work methodically and silently, which means that they both hear the voices approaching at the same time.   
  
“The Hedgehog and Demogorgon are headed your way,” Daisy’s voice crackles in their ears, confirming their suspicions.   
  
Jemma’s nose wrinkles. “Which one is the Hedgehog again?” she asks. “Doesn’t sound very threatening, does it?”   
  
Fitz glares at her. “Not important!” he hisses. “We need to get out of here!”   
  
Jemma shoves her pile of files back into the file cabinet while Fitz rushes to reassemble the phone. As soon as he’s done, Fitz grabs Jemma’s hand and pulls her towards the door.   
  
“Wait!” Daisy shouts. “They’ll see you! Try the window!”   
  
They head for the window behind the desk, but then the doorknob is turning, and as Fitz is wondering if they’d actually believe him if he said they were looking for the bathroom, Jemma is flattening herself against one of the bookshelves, and just as Fitz is about to tell her that’s not really an effective place to hide, she grabs him by the lapels of his jacket and pulls him flush against her, craning her neck up to press her lips to his.   
  
Fitz freezes for a moment until Jemma grabs his hand and places it on her arse and he suddenly realizes what she’s trying to do. He pries her lips open with his, deepening the kiss, figuring that they’re going to pretend to be horny for each other, they should at least make it as convincing as possible.   
  
Fitz snakes his free hand around Jemma’s neck and slowly trails his fingers down the skin covering the ridges of her spine, all the way down her back. He palms her thigh, hitching it up. Jemma, being as brilliant as she is, takes the hint and wraps her leg around his. He returns his hand to her back, unable to get enough of the warmth of her body or the smoothness of her bare skin.   
  
Jemma slides her hands around his waist, underneath his jacket, and tugs his shirt out of his trousers. Fitz jolts at the feeling of her fingers against the skin of his back, unintentionally pressing her more firmly into the bookshelf. Jemma lets out an actual, audible moan and Fitz, unsure as to whether Jemma has suddenly become an excellent actress or if she might legitimately be turned on, thinks it might be the hottest thing he’s ever heard in his life.   
  
He’s finding it a bit hard to breathe, and it could be the adrenaline that comes with knowing they’re about to get caught, but it’s far more likely that it’s because every time he’s about to pull away to take in oxygen, Jemma tugs him back in and sticks her tongue back in his mouth and takes his breath away all over again.   
  
Fitz is vaguely aware of the study door swinging open and accusatory voices directed at them, but he’s really into this now - like, really super invested in what is supposed an act of deception but has quickly turned into the single best minute of his life - and can’t really bring himself to pull away from Jemma. Jemma, for her part, isn’t making it any easier, wrapping her arms around his neck and essentially holding him hostage against her lips.   
  
It’s not until he feels a hand roughly grip his shoulder that Fitz is able to tear himself away from Jemma and turn around.   
  
“Wha - I, uh - Can I help you?” Fitz asks lamely, his brain still fuzzy and dazed and full of Jemma.   
  
The man scowls at him, and Fitz thinks that this one must be the Demogorgon because there’s this reptilian-like angle to his eyes and his mouth takes up practically half his face and Fitz is a bit worried that the guy might actually start feeding on him. “This is my office,” Demogorgon says pointedly. “And this isn’t really that kind of party. I suggest you take it home.”   
  
Jemma giggles a little too loudly, the way she does when she’s tipsy (or pretending to be tipsy), and leans against Fitz, hugging his arm against her. “C’mon,” she whispers loudly, directed at him but loud enough for the other men to hear. “Let’s go.” She tugs on his arm and leads him out of the study and into the hallway, staggering a bit too exaggeratedly, but Fitz isn’t about to complain because the Hedgehog and Demogorgon have already closed the door behind them.   
  
They stumble back into the expansive dining room, where party guests are still mingling and sipping on wine, and Fitz glances wistfully at the table of hor d'oeuvres as Jemma all but shoves him into the entryway and out the front door.   
  
They walk for about a quarter mile down the impossibly long driveway before the rest of the team meets them, driving up in their black van with tinted windows (“Not inconspicuous at all,” Fitz grumbles sarcastically as Mack and Hunter grab his arms and pull him into the back).   
  
The voices of the Hedgehog and the Demogorgon are already broadcasting from the surveillance equipment in the back of the van. “Nice job, Fitzsimmons,” Coulson calls back to them from the front passenger seat as May drives them out the front gate of the estate.   
  
Daisy raises an eyebrow at Fitz, a shit-eating grin on her face. “Looks like you had a good time, Fitz.”   
  
Fitz furrows his brow, confused, as Hunter and Mack snicker. “How do you mean?”   
  
Jemma smiles at him sympathetically. “You have a little bit of lipstick over here,” she tells him, pointing to the corner of her mouth.   
  
Fitz uses his thumb to delicately wipe at the corner of his mouth. “Did I get it?” he asks.   
  
This only makes Daisy, Mack, and Hunter laugh even harder. Jemma presses her lips tightly together, though the fact that her shoulders are shaking and she’s sucking in her cheeks betrays that she apparently finds something hilarious, though she’s clearly trying not to join in on the others’ laughter.   
  
Fitz glares at the lot of them. “What’s so funny?” he grumbles, unable to keep the annoyance and exasperation out of his voice.   
  
Daisy grabs Jemma’s clutch out of her lap and digs out her compact, handing it to Fitz, still laughing uncontrollably.   
  
Narrowing his eyes at them suspiciously, Fitz opens the compact and scowls when he sees his reflection. “Bloody hell, Simmons!” he complains when he sees that the entire lower half of his face is completely smeared with Jemma’s red lipstick.   
  
Jemma takes her clutch back from Daisy. She digs through it and pulls out a crumpled cocktail napkin, handing it to Fitz so he could wipe off his face.   
  
Daisy nudges Jemma’s ribs. “Anything you want to tell us, Simmons?” she teases.   
  
Jemma rolls her eyes. “We did what we had to for the mission, Daisy,” she informs her primly.   
  
(Once they return to the Playground, Jemma apologizes to Fitz for taking the mickey out of him by giving him the canapes she had managed to sneak out of the party in her clutch.)   
  
Despite Jemma’s searing betrayal, Fitz doesn’t complain when, a month later, they receive another assignment to crash yet another black tie party. After all, if it turns out that he has to make out with his best friend again, it’s simply his duty as SHIELD agent. Sometimes, saving the world means taking one for the team.

+1

Fitz taps his fingers against the edge of his laptop, trying not to let his annoyance show. He is not successful.

Jemma huffs impatiently. “Will you just tell me what’s wrong already?” She asks for the fifth time that evening.

“Nothing,” Fitz mutters, also for the fifth time that evening.

“Well, obviously something is wrong because you’ve been surly ever since we left the base.”

“I’m always surly.”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “Surlier than usual.”

Fits taps his pointer finger four more times before giving in. “I just don’t see why we’ve been relegated to surveillance. I thought we’d proven that we’re competent undercover, you know?”

Jemma’s grin stretches wide across her face. “Look at you. Who’d have thought, when we first started, that you, of all people, would be itching to go out into the field.”

Fitz frowns. “That’s not really-“

Jemma reaches over and pinches his cheek. “You’re such a brave little toaster!”

“Stop!” Fitz whines, pulling away from her reach. “I don’t appreciate you patronizing me. Besides, it’s not like I’m asking to go into Ops. I’m just saying...I think I’ve gotten pretty good at being the distraction.”

Jemma bites back a smile. “You have,” she agrees, placating. “You’ve been practicing very diligently.”

Fitz frowns. “Practicing?”

“Yeah. I think you’ve perfected the whole moony puppy eyes. And the whole touchy-feely thing.”

“Touchy-feely thing?” Fitz repeats, lost.

“Yeah. Like the way you squeeze my shoulder or my elbow every time you pass by me in the lab. Or how you put your arm around me when we’re watching movies on the couch.”

“Well, hold on a second.” He feels oddly defensive, as though she’s caught him in something. “You rest your head on my chest when we’re watching movies, so it’s not like I’m the only one practicing.” 

Jemma flushes. “Well, you kiss the top of my head when you think I’ve fallen asleep,” she says accusingly.

Fitz gapes at her. “Well, why are you pretending to fall asleep on me?”

“Because.” Fitz doesn’t think he’s seen Jemma so red since that time they went to the beach and Jemma fell asleep while sunbathing. “I...I like it when you’re touchy-feely,” she admits.

Fitz’s mouth goes dry. “I, uh. Um.” He ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “I could do it more?” he offers, tentative.

Jemma smiles, her whole face lighting up, and immediately grabs his hand, giving it a brief and affectionate squeeze.

They both go back to work after that, but Fitz feels a curious crackling under his skin the whole time. His heart quickens for reasons that have nothing to do with the task at hand. It’s not the frantic thumping he usually associates with the life-or-death stakes he’s been facing with increasing regularity. It’s a quick fluttering of excited anticipation, the way a little kid might feel lying in bed the night before their birthday, eagerly awaiting the sunrise. 

He could be misinterpreting. The Fitz of years ago would probably wait, would go back and forth with himself until he was 100 percent certain. He could spend the rest of his life equivocating.

But the Fitz of today is filled with a heady sort of recklessness. He’s been in so many situations in the past couple years where he had to make a snap judgment and rely on his own knowledge and intuition and trust that everything would turn out okay. Why not with this too?

Over the years, Fitz has been Jemma’s fake boyfriend, her fake fiancé, her fake husband, and he thinks he did a pretty good job with it. He doesn’t see why he can’t be all those things to her for real. 

So later, when Coulson calls for them to leave the surveillance van and meet them at the warehouse two blocks over, Fitz grabs Jemma’s hand and interlaces his fingers with hers. Jemma leans her temple against his shoulder, a brief moment of silent affection, before straightening again.

Fitz looks down at his shoes. “Jemma. So, I was thinking that the two of dinner. I mean, I was thinking about the two of us and dinner. And I was thinking we could go to dinner. The two of us. Somewhere - whoa!”

He finds himself suddenly tripping over his feet as Jemma pulls him into a side alley. She holds out her hand behind her as she leans to poke her head around the corner of the building. She hurriedly pulls back into the shadows, flattening her back against the wall.

“Quick, kiss me,” she breathes.

“ _ What _ ? What’s going -”

Jemma grabs the collar of Fitz’s shirt and pulls him in, pressing her lips to his. Fitz stumbles forward, his body colliding into hers, his hands falling against the wall of either side of her to catch his weight.

His entire body tenses, waiting to hear the inevitable thudding of footsteps approaching, the rising voices, the commotion of a chase. Instead, there’s just the usual rumbling of engines as cars drive down the intersecting street ahead, the crunch of gravel as a cyclist passes, the distant chirping of birds. Background noise.

He pulls a hair’s width away and whispers, “Who are we hiding from?” 

Jemma shrugs. “No one.” One corner of her lips quirk up into a smile that’s somehow both shy and playful at once. “Just felt like kissing you.”

Fitz feels all the air whooshing out of him, his body sagging in relief. “You think you’re so clever.”

“I do think I’m clever,” Jemma agrees. “I got you to kiss me, didn’t I?”

“It’s not that hard to get me to kiss you,” Fitz grumbles. “Literally all you need to do is ask.”

“Will you kiss me?”

“No.” Fitz pouts, petulant. 

Jemma bites back a smile. Her fingers travel to the back of his head to play with his hair. “Aw, come on. Don’t be like that.”

“Here I was, trying to get up the nerve to tell you I’m in love with you and ask you on a date, and you’re plotting ways to make me panic.”

Jemma’s smile widens. “Sounds like you were already doing a good job of making yourself panic.”

“ _ Exactly _ . So the last thing I need is -”

“You didn’t need to, though,” Jemma interrupts. “Panic, I mean. About any of that. Not when I love you too.”

Fitz just stares at her, his rant forgotten. “Oh,” he manages to choke out. “Good.”

“ _ Now _ will you kiss me?”

This time, Fitz doesn’t bother using words, instead leaning in and pressing his lips fervently to hers. He can feel Jemma smiling against his lips, which makes him smile, and soon the kiss isn’t much of a kiss at all, just two smiles pressed together. 

Even though they’re in an alley that smells faintly of piss and trash, even though the kiss is short lived because their teammates are still waiting for them to join them, even though they both feel stale and sweaty from traveling and working for 51 hours straight without a break, it’s still the best kiss they’ve ever shared.

Because this time, it’s for no one’s benefit but their own.


End file.
